


“Dormé in Darkness”

by Polgarawolf



Series: DARK Star Wars AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Betrayal, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Burning alive, Civil War, Dark, Desire, Dream Sex, Dreams, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hatred, Infatuation, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Lies, Love, Love-sickness, Love/Hate, M/M, Manipulations, Masks, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Obsession, Obsessive Behaviour, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Violence, Sith, Sith machinations, Suicide, Temptation, Twisted, Unrequited Love, Violence, Want, War, dark side, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-01
Updated: 2007-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polgarawolf/pseuds/Polgarawolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is fifty random (but essentially chronological, if with some overlap) moments from the life of an extremely AU Dormé Tammesin, whose life is forever altered when she realizes that she desires Anakin Skywalker and encourages the feeling rather than trying to fight against it. There is a story here – one small thread among the vast woven tapestry of life that is the living history of the galaxy, stretched out and twisted, knotted into the whole, curled down among the roots of time, connecting various moments together – but one must read between the lines to capture it. It is not the truth, for the subtle story of these moments is sketched out here in words, and, in the sin of writing down a life, it inevitably changes the shape of things. But it is nevertheless a form of truth. (From a certain point of view . . . )</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Dormé in Darkness”

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings: 1.)** This story functions as a sort of compressed codex for an extremely AU Dormé Tammesin’s life. It is **not** intended to correspond in any way with my not even nearly complete AU **Star Wars** series **_You Became to Me_** , so please don’t try to read it thusly, okay? **2.)** Please be aware that **this story combines het and slash** , with the Obi-Wan/Anakin pairing referred to at the end being the only true romantic pairing of the story. **3.)** There is some reference to knife-play, bloodletting, and self-harm in this fic. It’s a **much** darker fic than my norm, as there is an unknown Sith/Dark Side apprentice/acolyte (Sola Naberrie) behind the scenes who’s manipulating Dormé’s thoughts/emotions, trying to influence her towards an action that will reveal Anakin and Padmé’s forbidden hand-fasting/marriage, and the meddling is slowly driving her insane.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes: 1.)** Again, this not-quite-a-story is AU and is NOT compatible with my SW AU series **_You Became to Me_** , not even if you squint at some things sideways and view a few others solely through the lens of Dormé’s increasingly desperate eyes. In fact, for those who’re wondering, this is actually an AU of that AU series. **2.)** This “story” is modeled on theme set **Delta** for an LJ community called **_1sentence_** (where the aim of the game is to write one sentence for each theme in a given table of set prompts), but was actually prompted by a somewhat wistful comment on another story of mine to the effect that it was a shame I don’t write Dormékin (Dormé/Anakin fic). Ta-da! I give you my extremely screwed-up attempt at Dormékin! (Please, don’t shoot me!!!) **3.)** Before readers get upset about the way her emotions are all over the map, especially towards the end, they might want to keep in mind that, in this particular story, Dormé is being meddled with (as in influenced via the Sith version of the Jedi Mind Trick) behind the scenes more and more by Sidious’ secret apprentice/tool, Sola Naberrie, and is therefore losing more and more of her sanity the further into the story you get. **4.)** This story involves unrequited (secretly Sith-influenced) Dormé Tammesin/Anakin Skywalker, (secretly Sith-influenced) Padmé/Anakin, unrequited Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin/Obi-Wan. In other words, folks, this is the story of two love/lust-triangles in head-on collision with each other. **5.)** **_Please note_** that I have labeled this story with an "explicit" rating because I consider it easily a hard R (borderline NC-17) for explicit subject matter and mature themes. Warnings for self-harm (mainly by a twisted form of knife-play/bloodletting) and suicide, folks, okay?

**"Dormé in Darkness"**

 

 

 **#01: Air**  
The air always feels warm and close in his presence, but it’s not until Dormé realizes that she’s breathing more deeply, trying to draw in the scent of him, despite that sense of almost overwhelming heat, that she realizes what the problem is.  
  
 **#02: Apples**  
Anakin smiles at Dormé – the openly warm expression of a friend – and heat abruptly blooms in her belly, sizzling in her blood and rising in her body until a flush climbs up the column of her throat and spreads out across the apples of her cheeks, marking her out for anyone with eyes to see for the traitor her flesh has made her.  
  
 **#03: Beginning**  
In the beginning, Dormé thought it was sweet, how Anakin did everything he could to make Padmé look upon him with favor, smile at him and speak to him kindly, but a venomous serpent coils within her now, hissing and spitting angrily, jealously, with every warm look and soft touch they share, and she is forced to dig her nails into her palms until they slice bloody half-moons into the skin, to keep from crying out at their hypocrisy.  
  
 **#04: Bugs**  
It bothers Dormé immensely, knowing that Padmé doesn’t love Anakin with either her whole heart or her body – that Padmé has, in fact, been helplessly in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi since the moment she first met him – and she finds herself spitefully wondering, during one of her routine sweeps of the apartment for bugs, whether or not Anakin suspects that he is not the only one in the marriage with an unfaithful heart and a body that yearns for the touch of another.  
  
 **#05: Coffee**  
She is bringing Padmé her morning coffee (Naboo’s answer to the caf and stim-tea of the Core Worlds and Inner Rim) when she catches her first glimpse of Anakin fully unclothed, lying passively upon the bed, blue eyes shut tight, face twisted in an expression closer to pain, to agony, than to pleasure, as his illicit wife’s small white hand curves around the hard length of him, carefully smoothing over rigid flesh, teasing back the fragile foreskin with the exact same delicacy of motion and rapt attention Dormé has seen Milady pay to a piece of fruit being peeled for the eating, and the eruption of heat in her body is such that it is not until Padmé (eyes locked tight to the prize in her grasp, thankfully unnoticing of anything or anyone else) strokes her hand in a certain way and Anakin throws back his head against the pillows, lips rounding in the shape of an "O," moving to form the shape of a name he would likely die before uttering in this bed, that she remembers herself enough to slip silently back out of the room, her bottom lip caught so viciously between her teeth to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it all that a gush of scarlet pours down her chin and stains the bodice of her dress, the mark glistening crimson against the fabric like an open wound.  
  
 **#06: Dark**  
She feels darkened by her desire, tainted by it, but she cannot bring herself to stop following him with her eyes or savoring the nearness of him when he visits Padmé, and, even though it feels wrong ( _she_ feels wrong, in experiencing such emotions) and she feels like a monster, like an abomination, like sin itself, substantial and personified, Dormé knows she cannot stop wanting him, that she doesn’t truly _want_ to stop (a part of her likes this, oh, yes, likes it very much, indeed, the feeling of raw, open, solid, real, undeniable desire, of lust untempered by any softer affection, and that’s the crux of it, after all, that _she likes it_ , that she _wants_ it, _wants_ to feel this, to have this, to revel in it, the rush of this intoxicating high that lays her to waste and yet makes her feel so terribly alive), and, despairingly, she begins to wonder if one must be a Jedi to go dark, because she can feel the pull of the Dark Side every time she lays eyes upon Anakin Skywalker, and it becomes harder and harder for her, each time, to resist that seductive lure.  
  
 **#07: Despair**  
She picks up the knife in a fit of despair, huddled alone in the quiet of her room, eyes glued to the holodisplay of the monitoring device she has deliberately planted in Milady’s bedchamber, watching as Padmé writhes frantically upon Anakin’s body, impaling herself again and again on his impressive length (too caught up in her own wanton frenzy to note the strange passivity of her husband’s body beneath her or the way that his mouth keeps moving to shape an "O" that never quite makes its way past his lips), and, with four fingers buried viciously within her own aching wet heat, slashes the blade across the tender skin of her clenching upper thighs, desperately trying to turn herself aside from this madness by teaching her body that the desire she feels will bring her flesh nothing but pain.  
  
 **#08: Doors**  
The doors are always carefully shut – Padmé always makes sure of that, terrified that otherwise they might somehow be seen and so caught out in the midst of their tangled snarl of lies – but it no longer matters: Milady trusts her, and all it takes is a few carefully placed miniature holocomms, a few deliberately planted bugs, to ensure that they will never again know a moment’s privacy within the confines of these rooms.  
  
 **#09: Drink**  
She begins to crave drink so badly that she can taste the burn of the alcohol and the heady rush of heat blossoming in her stomach (so like and unlike the uncoiling explosion of lust in her blood, whenever she is faced with the sight or sound or scent of Anakin Skywalker), and it is only the fear of exposing herself and being cast out, where she will never again be able to lay eyes on Anakin, that keeps Dormé from giving in to the siren’s call of liquor.  
  
 **#10: Duty**  
She knows her duty, and this isn’t it, isn’t anything even near what she signed on for, and the temptation to use that knife, again and again, is only staved off by the realization that, of the three of them involved in this sick cycle carousel of misplaced lust (four, she supposes, if one also counts the man both Milady and her illicit husband truly desire, though that’s hardly fair, given the Jedi in question is most assuredly wed solely to duty), her dereliction of duty is so minor, compared to the infractions of the others, that she would barely even rate a blip on the HoloNet, should Padmé and Anakin’s relationship ever come to light.  
  
 **#11: Earth**  
She is outside one day, tending to Milady’s flowers, gathering her a bouquet for the dinner table, when Anakin suddenly appears, smiling in obvious good high spirits, slipping over to her side and lingering long enough to remark that her eyes are the same color as the newly-turned earth of the flowerbed, the long-fingered hand hidden beneath that ever-present leather glove carefully breaking off a fragrant bloom to tuck (apparently absent-mindedly) behind the shell-like curve of her left ear, before he finally gathers up the flowers from her trembling and numbed hands and rushes, utterly unheeding of the effect he’s had on her, into the house, calling out for Padmé and waving his offering of flowers like a perfect HoloVid Knight, proud of himself and his offering as if he hadn’t just stolen the blooms from Dormé’s unresisting hands.  
  
 **#12: End**  
Dormé can feel the end approaching and knows, logically, that this cannot possibly last forever – that she will be lucky if she has until even the end of the war before Anakin or Padmé forgets and slips and reveals their hollow sham of a hand-fasting to the rest of the galaxy at large, causing the whole house of cards to come tumbling down – but her blood sings in her ears, siren-sweet, and blossoms heat at the least possible sign or mention of Anakin, and she knows, too, that she will delay that end, fight it with all of her strength and cunning and stubbornness, likely long past the point of plausible deniability, and the knowledge does not surprise her, even in her most rational moments.  
  
 **#13: Fall**  
In her saner moments, Dormé knows that it’s not the long fall into darkness and obsession but rather the abrupt halt awaiting at the end of that dizzying descent that is most likely to be her death, but the moments do not last long, for she has become so enamoured of the intoxicating freedom inherent in the act of surrender to that fall that she can no longer remember what it was like, to stand unmoving on solid ground.  
  
 **#14: Fire**  
Desire is a disease, a ravaging agent enveloping and permeating her body and devouring her soul, merciless and mindless as fire, and she finds she can do nothing but suffer its wracking torment in silence, in her weakness treacherously yielding to its plundering embrace.  
  
 **#15: Flexible**  
Her morals have become more flexible, over the course of the war and the course of Padmé and Anakin’s illicit relationship, by necessity, allowing her to bend where once she would have simply broken irrevocably.  
  
 **#16: Flying**  
Dormé dreams it is her name on Anakin’s lips, that she is the one who makes him break and move and actively reach to grip tight and thrust into and claim and mark, and the feeling of exultation is so like flying that, when she wakes in a tangle of bed sheets, she feels the jolting impact of crash so vividly that she cannot understand why her pale flesh is not black and blue from the violence of collision.  
  
 **#17: Food**  
Every time Anakin ducks his head and smiles and uses the Force to float some paltry morsel of food across the table to Padmé, Dormé wants to cry out, to scream that he is wasting the power he should be using to combat the Sith and end the civil war, and only the shock of remembering her duty is enough to jar her away from such a display of hypocrisy.  
  
 **#18: Foot**  
He pads silently out into the kitchen one night, wrapped only in a loose sleep robe, and shocks her utterly by sitting down at the table next to her and casually helping himself to a cup of her tea, smiling at her tiredly as he explains that he finds himself unable to sleep and is unwilling to risk disturbing Padmé’s slumber when work already cuts so often into the hours available to her for sleep, legs extended in a loose sprawl that brings his bare left foot so close to her that the outermost edge rubs distractingly up against her slipper-clad right foot, and, when it takes all of her willpower to keep from orgasming immediately at the accidental and purely innocent touch, she finds herself wondering, desperately, just how far out of her depth she’s already fallen.  
  
 **#19: Grave**  
Whenever Anakin has to leave, Padmé’s face is always grave, heart-broken, sad and yearning, but Dormé knows that this graven mask is a lie, for she sees the relief that breaks across those carefully schooled features, shattering Padmé’s façade into a hundred thousand lying fragments, every single time he has gone away again.  
  
 **#20: Green**  
Green is said to be the color of envy, but she finds that she cannot hate it, nor herself, for every time she catches sight of the coolly verdant color, she remembers a day out in the gardens, Anakin appearing out of the blue and sidling up to her, laughing and exclaiming that her eyes are the color of the freshly-turned earth, and she finds herself fecund and wanting, waiting for only his fruitful touch, to, like a flower, bud and swell and ripen and blossom with seed.  
  
 **#21: Head**  
A part of her is almost glad that his visits are so infrequent and so frequently brief, for she finds it so difficult to keep her head about her when he is near that she begins to fear Padmé will notice the scarring on her palms from the many times she’s driven her nails into the tender flesh until it parted under the pressure and bled, in an attempt to impart herself some shadow of control.  
  
 **#22: Hollow**  
Her body is empty, yearning, her flesh burning with need for him, her mind and will sapped, bent out of shape, the whole of her reshaped into a perfectly hollow vessel, waiting only for his notice to fill herself, glut herself, with and upon him.  
  
 **#23: Honor**  
She has no real honor left, and yet, the realization is as hollow and meaningless as the one that came with the understanding that she was failing in her duty, for if she has broken honor with Milady, then how much more honorless has Padmé’s actions towards Anakin (when she still loves Obi-Wan, so much that Dormé has often seen and heard her, of a night, writhing and crying out for her Bendu, her Master Kenobi) rendered her?  
  
 **#24: Hope**  
She cannot decide if she should hope for a hell as sweet as this purgatory has been, when she dies, but she is fairly certain that it is to hell she will be going, and she figures that, as thoroughly acquainted as she’s become to the sweetness of suffering, it only makes sense to assume that hell will be familiar.  
  
 **#25: Light**  
 _Kenobi & Skywalker _are the light of hope in a galaxy of increasing darkness, and she watches them on the HoloNet, rapt as any other worshipfully adoring fan, as they cut a swathe of blazing glory across the Outer Rim, Separatist factions falling before them like shadows retreating before the glare of a twinned sun  
  
 **#26: Lost**  
She knows she is lost – though a single niggling thread of pride insists that she’s nowhere near as far gone as Padmé, marrying the Padawan apprentice of the Jedi Master she loves in order to feel closer to that Master – but the longer the war rages, the less she finds herself able to rouse the energy to care.  
  
 **#27: Metal**  
The mirror-bright metal of the blade gleams, reflecting a wild and earth-dark eye back at her, and she glides its razored edge along the smooth skin of her right inner thigh, pressing gently, gently, just enough to draw a line of scarlet against her white skin, and then, leaning in close, seals her mouth to the lower edge of the wound, lapping and sucking at the bitterly sweet metallic tang of the liquid marking her wanting, teaching and reteaching herself the brazen pain of need, of desire, of the lack of Anakin in her life, with her, within her, loving her.  
  
 **#28: New**  
There is a new line of crimson painted against her thighs or the tops of the breasts (where her mouth can reach, the angle awkward but not impossible, the effort involved in reaching such a spot almost as good a reminder to control herself as any wound placed there) every time that Anakin visits, and she finds herself grateful that Padmé has started keeping bacta bandages on hand, just in case Anakin should ever visit her specifically while wounded, for it would be much harder to keep up her end of their interwoven, precariously balanced web of lies, should the wounds ever go without bandaging, the blood seeping through the fabric of her clothes like a rising stain, warning of her weakness, her failure, her desire.  
  
 **#29: Old**  
One day she catches Padmé clinging recklessly, unabashedly (almost clawing at him in her naked desperation, frantic to get closer), to a carefully still and mostly awkwardly unresponsive Obi-Wan Kenobi, and is surprised at the viciousness of the sudden resurgence of an old fury, her entire body shaking fiercely, as in the grip of some violent seizure, as her mistress throws herself once more at a man even less likely to ever accept her offering than he is to realize the desperate love his former Padawan has harboured within his heart for his former Master for at least as long as Dormé has known him  
  
 **#30: Peace**  
The Jedi Order preaches peace through detachment, a deliberate foreswearing of attachment to all things and all beings, but it is only when Anakin Skywalker gazes upon the face of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the love he feels for the Jedi Master suffuses him and softens his eyes and his features that Dormé knows he is ever experiencing true serenity.  
  
 **#31: Poison**  
Hatred, like desire, works in her like a poison, and she finds herself wondering, again, if one absolutely must be Force-sensitive in order to fall to the Dark Side, because she can feel it growing within her, like some rapidly ripening, bitterly poisonous fruit.  
  
 **#32: Pretty**  
She knows she is only pretty, not beautiful like Padmé, but stars above and earth below, what she would not give for Anakin to look upon her, just _once_ , and see her as a desirable woman!  
  
 **#33: Rain**  
One day when she is out in the gardens again, she finds herself so distracted with the muddied swirl of her own ugly thoughts that she fails to notice the turning of the weather, and it is only after the rain has given way to hail and a sizable chunk of ice has struck her forehead with enough force to burst the skin like that of an over-ripe fruit, scarlet rushing down into her eyes like an explosion of suddenly pressed juice, that she even realizes she’s soaked to the skin and standing in the midst of a violent storm.  
  
 **#34: Regret**  
She wants to be able to feel regret, remorse, upset, surprise, horror, sorrowful contrition, grief, _something_ (sweet Lady Nisaba _bless_ , just something – _anything!_ – besides the impossible storm of unslakeable desire the mere thought of Anakin is enough to rouse in her), but the hot blood trickles down her face, mingling with the icy rainwater, and the sudden shocking sweetness of it as it patters into her open mouth brings an eerily dreamy smile to her face, even as she turns to stumble her way back to the shelter of the Lake House villa.  
  
 **#35: Roses**  
The invocation of his name alone on the HoloNet has become enough to make heat and color bloom in her cheeks, and one day she finds herself automatically plunging her face down into a bouquet of roses, to hide her reaction from Padmé, too distracted to notice that a similar flush has risen in Milady’s face and throat at the mention of Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
  
 **#36: Secret**  
Their so-called marriage (if one can truly accurately call such a thing marriage, when one party believes himself to be irrevocably wed and the other has deliberately secretly arranged for a contracted union of set length, its renewal dependent solely upon her actions) is a secret, but Dormé can’t for the life of her understand how they’re managing to keep it, because they betray themselves so obviously in so many ways that she would think it would take someone deaf, blind, and dumb to keep from noticing; then again, though, Obi-Wan has his trust to keep him blind, and it is the same dumbly unquestioning trust that keeps Anakin from seeing Padmé’s obsession with Obi-Wan and that keeps Padmé and Anakin both from noticing Dormé’s infatuation with Anakin, too, so she suppose she should simply count her blessings and let sleeping Sithspawn lie.  
  
 **#37: Snakes**  
The single serpent of envy has long since laid eggs and hatched a slithering, writhing nest of snakes, hissing and spitting and sinking their venomous fangs into her over and over and over again, and she wonders, sometimes, if there’s any blood left to act as a carrier for all the hateful poison that must be flowing through her veins.  
  
 **#38: Snow**  
When it becomes clear that Padmé is pregnant with Anakin’s child, it begins to snow in her heart, and the coldness seeps through her with such rapidity that she wonders, in a brief moment of lucidity, if she will ever be able to feel warm again.  
  
 **#39: Solid**  
She can feel the solid weight of the ice as hoarfrost collects and solidifies into a permanent frozen barrier around her heart, and she knows her face is just a little too blankly calm when Padmé sends her back to Naboo, to oversee the final stages of training for a new round of handmaidens meant specifically for duty as decoys and body-doubles, while Padmé stays behind on Coruscant, but (unsurprisingly) finds that, all things considered, she no longer cares if Milady suspects anything.  
  
 **#40: Spring**  
Spring is still fading into summer on Naboo, and the gentle warmth of the sun and the verdant fecundity of the land surprise her, jolting her into a painful remembrance of a day, a flower tucked behind her ear, a smile, a compliment comparing her eyes to the earth, and tears suddenly rise up and spill over those earth-dark eyes, moisture raining heedlessly down her face, in a flood far too violent for her to stem.  
  
 **#41: Stable**  
Whatever strength Dormé may have once had left rapidly deserts her, in her exile, until she’s about as stable as a star a heartbeat away from exploding into nova-fire; there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it, though (nor, selfishly, can she bring herself to care overly much about that, all things considered), and she finds herself flushing with an odd sense of freedom, for she knows that any lack of control on her part can no longer be an issue, not when there is little to nothing that she might do that will be able to harm Anakin any worse than Padmé’s unexpected and unplanned for and utterly unwanted pregnancy doubtlessly will.  
  
 **#42: Strange**  
It’s strange to remember her own sense of willing, waiting fecundity, knowing how ruinous Padmé’s pregnancy is liable to be, not only for her (and so for Dormé) but for Anakin (and so for Obi-Wan, too) as well.  
  
 **#43: Summer**  
Summer is beginning to show signs of fading into autumn when word suddenly comes that Coruscant is under attack, that General Grievous has somehow managed to penetrate the planet’s defenses to kidnap the Supreme Chancellor and is attempting to flee the system with him, and that the famous Team – _Anakin & Obi-Wan_, the golden boys and darlings of the galactic media – is in route to save the day, and she shivers with a sudden cold premonition, not of disaster for Palpatine, but rather of disaster for the four of them, caught up in this tangled web of unrequited love and misplaced affection and wrongly channeled lust.  
  
 **#44: Taboo**  
Love, for a Jedi, is the greatest taboo, short of outright deliberate embrace of the Dark Side, but she sees the love, hears the love, senses the love, knows beyond her ability to question the love that Anakin feels for Obi-Wan, expressed as it is in his every word, every gesture, in the very stance of his body and the light in his eyes and reverent hush in his voice when he speaks his former Master’s name, and she wonders, as she watches the endless loop of repeating HoloNet interviews, how it is that no one else has come to the same conclusion that she so long ago came to, regarding the one true keeper of Anakin Skywalker’s heart and soul.  
  
 **#45: Ugly**  
It is an ugly thought, a vicious thought, a dishonorable thought, a thought worthy of a Sith, but she cannot help but indulge in the fantasy that Padmé might have been killed, in the confusion of battle surrounding Grievous’ attack on Coruscant, especially not when the silence from her stretches out from mere hours into days, with no sign of Padmé on the HoloNet to counter her sudden silence.  
  
 **#46: War**  
The war has never been quite real to Dormé, paling before her own titanic struggle with temptation and desire, and it is a shock, to finally realize how close it has come to her, and that her unworthy, ugly, hateful, hopeful thought is, in fact, the literal truth.  
  
 **#47: Water**  
As the colors of the room swirl together like eddies of storm clouds or muddy currents in sluggish water, darkening and bleeding inevitably towards black, Dormé hears a desperately shrill and frightened voice calling out, "Force, she’s fainting – help me catch her!" and a bubble of hysterical laughter wells up and smashes the crushing pressure in her chest, breaking her open, shattering her like a glass dropped from a great height, for she knows it’s far too late for anyone to ever catch her now.  
  
 **#48: Welcome**  
The solicitous attention of the other handmaidens is not welcome: Obi-Wan and Anakin have unmasked and defeated the Sith Lord Sidious (revealing him as none other than Palpatine himself!), and they are together, now, in every sense of the word, and all Dormé desires to do is to curl up in a dark corner somewhere and die.  
  
 **#49: Winter**  
The winter in her soul will never turn to spring, and she knows there’s only one thing left for her to do.  
  
 **#50: Wood**  
The wood is well-seasoned and eager to catch light; the alcohol content of the liquor is high and volatile enough to explode into flame at the barest hint of spark; the mirror-bright blade of the dagger is eager to seek out her veins, to rain bitter poison down upon the makeshift pyre and add fuel to the fire; and Dormé Tammesin walks to her death with an eerie smile upon her face, arms flung wide to embrace the return of a familiar hell, unwilling and unable to deal with the new hell that is the marriage of hearts and souls and minds and bodies and spirits of Obi-Wan Kenobi (whom _everyone_ loves, damn him to hell!) and her beloved Anakin Skywalker.


End file.
